


like or like like

by leeinthesky



Category: I Medici | Medici: Masters of Florence (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Light Angst, Lorenzo Is An Idiot, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Beta Read, Sharing a Bed, When Does This Take Place? Who Knows, author is bad a tagging, but there's a happy ending I promise, clarice is a goddess, rating is for swearing and heavy drinking, sloppy declarations of love, that should be the first tag, there are actually a lot of people here but most of them are background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25696582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leeinthesky/pseuds/leeinthesky
Summary: tell me how you feel about medo you like or like, like me?tell me what you really feeldo you like me? just say you dostaring into francesco’s eyes, that lorenzo realizes two things in very quick succession. the first drops his heart to his toes and shakes him to his very core. it turns his whole world upside down- or maybe right side up. right here, right now, lorenzo de’ medici realizes one very fundamental fact about himself: he is madly, hopelessly in love with francesco pazzi.the second is that he can never know.
Relationships: Lorenzo "Il Magnifico" de' Medici/Francesco de' Pazzi, background bianca di piero de medici/guglielmo pazzi, background clarice orsini/lucrezia donati, background giuliano de medici/simonetta vespucci
Comments: 9
Kudos: 53





	like or like like

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone! this is a very new fandom for me but the second i saw lorenzo and francesco interact i was like 'oh god i have to write something for them _now_ '. i sincerely hope this isn't too ooc- tried my best, really did- but i'm also aware that my grasp on these guys isn't the best yet so !please cut me some slack!
> 
> this is not beta read in the slightest, so if you catch any typos or weird grammar things, please let me know! 
> 
> title and lyrics in the description are from 'like or like like' by miniature tigers. great song, great band- very relevant to the content of this fic. general 'i don't own the song or the characters or the show' warning, please don't sue me italians <3

lorenzo de’ medici is nothing if not a hopeful, optimistic dreamer, but despite his best efforts, it seems like the pazzi will forever be his family’s enemies. nevermind that guglielmo and bianca are together now, jacopo pazzi seems set on never turning a friendly eye on the medici. and fine, lorenzo can deal with jacopo, but for some reason it feels like a knife in his heart every time francesco pazzi sneers at him viciously across the aisle during mass. 

he thinks that maybe it’s because once upon a time, he and francesco used to be friends. he remembers notes passed in class and long afternoons at the riverbanks, running around pretending they were soldiers. lorenzo remembers them promising they would always be friends, no matter what happened, and he also remembers how francesco had drawn his face up in a scowl too forced to be real and said that they could never be friends, ever- he was a pazzi and lorenzo a medici. 

sometimes, lorenzo swears he can see a bit of the old francesco. there’s just something about the way his face softens just a touch when he sees guglielmo; something about his mouth that makes it seem like it wants to tick upwards and something about how his eyes flicker over towards lorenzo when giuliano makes a crude remark in the middle of the square. it fills lorenzo with hope- it’s irrational and completely improbable, but his stomach churns with the idea that they could be friends again, just as they were when they were kids. 

lorenzo’s hope seems to pay off when- with guglielmo being all but disowned by jacopo- it becomes francesco’s job to play nice and show face for the pazzi bank at medici functions. birthdays, dinners, bank meetings- any and all occasion that he would have had an excuse to skip before, francesco now has to attend. not only that, but he has to actually _talk_ to lorenzo. 

clarice orsini (best friend, confidant, _not_ lorenzo’s beard, no matter what the gossip of florence might say) is the first one to notice lorenzo’s good mood. 

‘what’s up with you?’ she asks as she redoes some of the buttons on his dress shirt. in his haste to get ready, lorenzo had put quite a few in the wrong place. ‘you don’t hate these bank things like giuliano does, but you do seem more… excited than usual.’

 _francesco is coming!_ lorenzo wants to shout, nearly lightheaded with giddiness. _francesco!_ instead, he steadies his hands on the papers he’s holding and schools his face into the most normal smile he can muster. 

‘no reason,’ he says, ducking clarice’s hand when she swipes at him. ‘really! i’m just starving, and nano has me looking over this humanities paper. i’m ready to be done with it.’

clarice looks at him sceptically, like she can’t quite believe that giuliano’s western lit paper could be so boring that he’s actually excited for a night of nothing but diplomacy and empty talk. lorenzo thinks fast before her piercing blue eyes figure him out, and throws out the first thing he can think of. 

‘and what about you? why are you so dressed up?’ he asks curiously, pointing to her nice dress and fancy updo. clarice usually prefers to just leave her hair down and settles for one of her plain dresses, but not tonight- bianca’s clearly helped her get ready.

‘no reason,’ clarice parrots, but the tips of her ears redden slightly.

luckily for clarice, she is saved by the shouting of lucrezia announcing the first guests’ arrivals. lorenzo winks at clarice, who shoves him out of his bedroom door and chases him down the stairs. no matter, he thinks. he’ll just figure out who she’s keen on by watching her throughout the night. 

yeah, that plan goes out the window almost immediately. the second lorenzo steps foot in the large courtyard he loses clarice to the throng of people. he almost forgets that he’s supposed to be watching her because he’s so caught up in looking for a mop of curly hair and a pair of high cheekbones. but francesco doesn’t arrive with the first wave of people, nor the second, and after a while, lorenzo finds it much harder to hide his antsy mood. 

‘waiting on someone?’ comes giuliano’s sly voice from somewhere behind him, like his brother already knows the answer to his own question. 

lorenzo shoots his brother a look, but giuliano is scanning the crowd with a smile. ‘no,’ he says, just a little too defensively, but it seems like his tone goes unnoticed. 

‘well i am,’ giuliano sighs. ‘simonetta cattaneo promised she’d come tonight, and i don’t know how i’ll manage to get through this horrid thing if she doesn’t. what is this soirée even for?’

lorenzo shrugs. he doesn’t know either, but it’s not as if the medicis have ever needed a reason to throw a party. he files away the information about his brother’s classmate and distantly notes that simonetta is practically engaged to one of the vespucci boys- marco? matteo? lorenzo knows giuliano could care less about this and doesn’t bother to voice his concerns; it would only end with a scene and his mother would kill both of them. instead, he just smiles at the way nano lights up as he spots simonetta’s flowing red hair, and teases him to tuck in his shirt if he wants to make a good impression. 

for some reason, seeing giuliano so happy to run off and be with simonetta makes lorenzo’s heart clench. he’s not exactly sure why. it’s not jealousy- he’s much too old for that- and it’s not annoyance. he chalks it up to being a nostalgic older brother just in time for clarice and bianca to corner him, looking smug about something lorenzo can’t even begin to guess at. maybe they’re fishing for information on giuliano and simonetta. 

‘where’s your pazzi boy?’ lorenzo teases bianca before they can get a word in. 

bianca screws up her nose at him. ‘networking, which is what _you’re_ meant to be doing,’ his older sister shoots back. 

‘ _your_ pazzi boy is over there in the corner, lorenzo,’ clarice interjects, and lorenzo starts at her phrasing. 

_your_ pazzi boy. what could she possibly mean by that?

‘my pazzi boy?’ he asks, doing his best to look confused and not needing to try very hard. 

‘francesco,’ bianca giggles as she point to a distant corner of the room, where francesco is, in fact, nursing a glass of champagne and looking generally out of place. ‘go save him before he dies of awkwardness.’

lorenzo’s been waiting for him to arrive all evening, but now that francesco is there, he can’t help but pause. francesco looks as sour and off putting as he always does, and years of being fixed with a number of his angry stares makes lorenzo hesitant to approach him. even if they are in his own house. 

‘c’mon enzo,’ clarice teases him. ‘you’ve only been waiting for him to get here all night.’

lorenzo fixes the two girls with what he hopes is his most withering facial expression. it only makes them laugh at him harder. 

‘clarice, dear,’ he says, unable to leave without getting the last word in, ‘whose lipstick are you wearing? it’s a pretty red but i really don’t think it’s your color.’

lorenzo knows he’s won when clarice claps a hand over her mouth and turns bright pink, and bianca confusedly asks her when she’d changed from the light nude color she usually wears. _ha_ , he thinks as he wiggles his fingers goodbye at the girls and then notes that he _really_ needs to ask clarice who she’s seeing. 

he snags a champagne flute off a server’s tray and wanders through the crowd a bit until he realizes that he’s putting off talking to francesco. lorenzo mentally chides himself to suck it up and forces his feet to move and his face to form its most charming smile. 

‘francesco, hi,’ he says as he approaches the corner that francesco seems to have claimed as his. ‘how are you?’

francesco glares at lorenzo, but his drink seems to have loosened him up just a bit because there’s not really any heat behind his eyes. 

‘excuse me if i’m not in the mood for small talk, medici,’ francesco mutters. 

he pushes his long hair back from his eyes, and lorenzo can’t help but remember how, when they were children, he would practice absurd hairstyles on the other boy. francesco’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and lorenzo allows himself to believe that he had been thinking of the same memories. but instead of acknowledging the moment, francesco lets his hair fall back across his face and downs the last of his champagne. 

‘i wanted to talk to you,’ lorenzo says suddenly, a little abruptly. ‘about guglielmo. he’s your brother, and i know your uncle doesn’t approve of him and bianca, but there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be free to see him when you wish. anyways, the palazzo doors are always open to you should you want to visit. just text him beforehand and he’ll tell the guards to let you in.’

francesco has an excellent poker face, and it’s generally hard to know exactly what he’s thinking, but when he smiles slightly lorenzo can tell that it’s genuine. there’s nothing more important to him than his brother, lorenzo knows, and he hopes this small olive branch will soften francesco’s ideas about the medici. 

‘lorenzo,’ clarice’s soft voice comes from his elbow. ‘sorry to interrupt, but your mother’s looking for you.’

despite being just a little annoyed that his conversation with francesco (which had actually been going _well_ for once) is being interrupted, lorenzo can’t help but smile at clarice and sling an arm around her shoulders. 

‘francesco, you know clarice orsini, right?’ he asks before dropping a quick kiss to the top of his friend’s head. clarice laughs at him and pushes out from under his arm to smile at the pazzi. 

but it’s like a switch has been flipped. francesco’s habitual scowl is back and there’s no trace of the softness in his eyes that had been there just moments before. it’s confusing, and lorenzo feels himself deflate a little. 

‘clarice,’ francesco nods respectfully, but his voice is cold and perfectly monotone. ‘if you’ll both excuse me.’

his strides are long, but lorenzo is used to catching francesco while he tries to make a speedy escape. this time, however, he misjudges the space between them and instead of reaching for francesco’s arm, lorenzo snags his hand and holds it tight. 

it takes a moment for lorenzo’s brain to catch up to the situation at hand (ha, literally). in an instant, it seems like there is no one else in the room, just him and francesco, who lets out a slight gasp at the contact. lorenzo can no longer hear the noise of the party, nor feel clarice at his side; there is only francesco, staring at him lips parted like one of sandro’s paintings. the last time they had touched like this they had been much younger, and lorenzo has to stop his brain from wondering if that was the last time francesco had been held with any sort of kindness. 

‘this feud between our families,’ lorenzo finally chokes out. ‘i really do hope it can end with us. i have never wanted anything other than to be your friend.’

for a second, francesco’s hazel green eyes look conflicted, almost as if he were about to end the rivalry right then and there. if lorenzo hadn’t spent the first twelve years of his life endlessly studying the other man, he would have missed it. but as quickly as the indecision had come on, his mask comes back up. 

‘i wouldn’t hold your breath, lorenzo,’ francesco mutters. 

and then he is gone, hand slipping out of lorenzo’s as if it had never been there. the only reason lorenzo knows it had happened is because he can still feel where francesco had squeezed it tight before he’d gone. suddenly, lorenzo can hear the voices of the people around him, can see the bright lights of the party when just a moment ago they had been muted, can feel clarice staring up at him. he fixes his face into his best approximation of a smile as he turns to face her, but his insides feel funny. 

clarice scans his face once and then nods, as if she likes what she sees. then she turns back to the party and says a name so lowly that lorenzo has to strain to hear it: ‘lucrezia donati.’

lorenzo is so surprised to hear his old lover’s name that he nearly forgets all about his encounter with francesco pazzi. ‘what?’

‘you wanted to know whose lipstick i was wearing,’ clarice says a little shortly, as if it pains her to admit so out loud. she then softens, and turns back to lorenzo with wide eyes. ‘you don’t mind do you? i really like her- i won’t stop seeing her but i don’t want to hurt you-‘

‘clarice,’ lorenzo interrupts gently. ‘clarice, i don’t mind. lucrezia and i have been done for ages, and i would never do anything to get in the way of your happiness.’ he smiles, thinking of how clarice had been acting lately, like she was filled to bursting with joy. ‘you really like her?’ he repeats. 

‘i do,’ clarice smiles, and then turns to look over her shoulder, where across the room lucrezia is watching them talk. lorenzo can tell that they love each other, even if they don’t yet know it. clarice deserves lucrezia, and lucrezia her. 

lorenzo makes some obligatory jabs about being best man and godfather to a bunch of babies, which makes clarice punch him hard in the arm. ‘one day,’ she says with faux haughtiness, ‘i expect to be your maid of honor and i will fight bianca for the position. we’ll have to get your love life in order first, but no matter.’

lorenzo snorts in response. ‘what love life? i _have_ no love life.’

at that, his friend quiets and studies his face once more. after a long beat during which lorenzo feels like he’s being picked apart, clarice simply shakes her head in exasperation and walks off while lorenzo stares at her in confusion. 

what the actual fuck?

————————

despite francesco telling lorenzo not to hold his breath, it seems like francesco is trying to make it as hard as possible _not_ to do so. in the weeks after that party, glares across the aisle at mass have turned into nods at the library, which have turned into small waves when they see each other in the square, which have turned into saying hello in the market and handshakes at the banks. lorenzo has never seen or heard francesco with guglielmo at the palazzo, but he knows from bianca that he has come to visit a few times. 

lorenzo has absolutely _not_ hung around the house hoping to see him. 

lorenzo has also absolutely not been thinking about why it means so much to him that he and francesco become close again. it isn’t for the advancement of the bank, and lorenzo would destroy anyone who might say so. it’s not because he believes that jacopo pazzi is a horrible person (he is) and lorenzo really thinks that francesco shouldn’t live with his uncle (he shouldn’t). he doesn’t know why, but lorenzo cannot stop thinking about the moment at the party when he’d grabbed francesco’s hand and stared into his eyes.

it must have been the environment, he thinks. the party, the alcohol. maybe, just maybe, if lorenzo could recreate those conditions but _better_ , he would be able to figure out why in the world that interaction was stuck in his head. 

it’s all much too easy to arrange. an opportunity to throw a smaller party with less formality comes almost as soon as lorenzo begins planning: his mother is off to siena to visit cousins for a week at the same time that his uncle carlo is to come to florence on a job for the pope. lucrezia gone, carlo as the occasion, and a fully stocked wet bar with only the finest liquors- some even going back to lorenzo’s grandfather’s time- it’s absolutely perfect. giuliano never needs much persuading when it comes to partying, and the second he’s told to invite simonetta he is more than willing to give up one quiet night for one very very casual kickback with lots of alcohol. sandro is also easy to convince (‘who am i to say no to medici hospitality?’ he asks with a grin, which absolutely means he is going to drink all of lorenzo’s rum), and he promises to bring some of the boys and lots of food. clarice cocks an eyebrow when told but agrees to come and to bring lucrezia donati. 

bianca is less easy. 

‘tell me why i should give up a night alone with guglielmo to hang out with your drunk friends?’ she asks, hands on her hips and looking every bit like their mother. ‘also explain to me why you’re throwing a party like a sixteen year old with an empty house, and why i shouldn’t tell mom.’

‘one: because you’re my cool older sister, and also because your boyfriend _is_ one of my drunk friends,’ lorenzo lists off. ‘two: because i can, and because carlo is never free. and three: because you’re my cool older sister.’

it almost seems like bianca will go and snitch to their mother, but instead she sighs and rolls her eyes. ‘fine,’ she agrees as she makes for the door. ‘but i’m making the playlist, i don’t trust anyone else to play good music.’

‘invite francesco too,’ lorenzo throws out in a way that he hopes is careless and cool but obviously misses the mark by a long shot, because bianca’s hair flies as she whips her head back around. 

‘francesco… pazzi?’ she checks carefully. ‘why?’

‘well…’ lorenzo flounders. ‘how many other people our age does he hang out with? and if he is to be family someday soon then we’d better start getting giuliano used to him being around now.’

bianca blushes at that and simply says that she will extend the invitation, but not to expect much. it’s all lorenzo can do to not burst. 

lorenzo never hears back from francesco. the party must go on anyways, because it’s been all planned, but lorenzo can’t help but feel unenthusiastic about the whole thing. carlo comes from rome, his mother leaves for siena, and that night by eight o’ clock, the medici’s living room is full and lively. even lorenzo’s poor mood is lifted; he may have failed in his goal to lure francesco out, but he is having a good time with his friends nevertheless. 

around three drinks in, lorenzo is feeling _great_ and has completely forgotten all about the unanswered invitation. sandro has, in fact, finished an entire bottle of rum and is singing something that sounds like billy joel on the coffee table. clarice, bianca, and simonetta are giggling and whispering, heads down, in a way that makes lorenzo imagine they’re planning world domination. sandro’s workshop boys have lucrezia sitting for an _actual portrait_. giuliano has procured a keg- from where, only he knew- and has convinced _carlo_ to do keg stands. 

lorenzo is stood away from the main crowd watching his uncle completely demolish bastiano soderini at the drinking game, when a voice behind him startles him so badly that he nearly spills his drink. 

‘my, my, is this how the pope’s ambassadors behave? not very priestly, is it?’ francesco pazzi steps into the room to be even with lorenzo against the doorframe, lips turned upwards into an almost smile. ‘carlo had better watch out or i’ll tell my cousin salviati about this.’

lorenzo is so bewildered by his sudden arrival and pleased that he’s actually there that he freezes, unable to say anything. his brain wants him to shout out a number of things (i’m so glad you came, why are you late, did you know that white shirt makes your hair look even darker and more flowy, wait _what the fuck_ ) but none of them seem right, and what actually comes out of his mouth is, ‘is that the cousin with the fake leg?’

francesco shakes his head, making his curls bounce. ‘no, the other one.’

‘oh- that one with the, with the face,’ lorenzo says as he scrunches up his features in an imitation of salviati’s expression. he’s aware that he’s not really making much sense and also that he is way more drunk than he’d previously thought. ‘like he’s just sucked off a lemon.’

it’s a crude comment that lorenzo probably shouldn’t make about a cardinal, and he’s just about to open his mouth to take it back when francesco honest to god _laughs_. it’s high and clear and lorenzo finds it hard to believe that so sweet a sound could come out of the usually sullen man next to him. 

he wants to hear it again. 

‘yeah, that’s the one,’ francesco agrees, still smiling. 

they stand there looking at each other in easy silence before lorenzo remembers that he is meant to be the host of this get-together and remembers his manners. 

‘would you like a drink?’ he asks, gesturing to the bar. ‘we’ve got just about everything- except for rum, sandro’s drank all of that.’

francesco’s eyes go wide as he looks over to where sandro is now passed out in front of the fireplace. ‘all of it? does he not have alcohol poisoning?’

lorenzo grins. ‘from one bottle? no way. oh my god, once he drank a whole case of my father’s good reserve shit and still got up for work the next day, my dad was so _pissed_ -‘

and then he’s telling francesco the whole story from the beginning and making him a drink, and francesco is laughing along so lorenzo just keeps telling him stories, and before long, they are both out of their minds drunk. lorenzo doesn’t even know if half of the vodka he’s pouring is making it into his glass. francesco is in the middle of explaining some trip that he’d taken somewhere- lorenzo has no idea which country let alone which continent he’s talking about- when loud, raucous cheering snaps them out of their bubble and reminds them there are other people around. 

the shouting is because lucrezia has clarice in a dip and is making out with her in what is quite possibly the most obscene display that lorenzo has ever seen. when clarice finally comes up for air she is as red as her dress and looking very pleased with herself as lucrezia accepts high fives from the people around her. lorenzo feels eyes on him and turns to find francesco looking at him, an odd expression on his face. 

‘they don’t bother you?’ the pazzi asks, sounding genuinely curious. 

lorenzo looks back at the girls, now cuddling on one of the couches. ‘no,’ he answers truthfully. ‘lucrezia and i would have never lasted; it was honestly the most comp-het situation of either of our lives. we really were only together because we were expected to be.’

‘and clarice?’ francesco presses. 

‘what about her?’

‘you two aren’t- weren’t-‘ he makes a very uncoordinated gesture with his hands but lorenzo understands his meaning. 

‘oh, no. god, no,’ lorenzo says quickly, then amends himself. ‘i met clarice when i went down to rome with my father on a business trip- i must’ve been about sixteen- and we both understood that the general idea was that one day we were supposed to marry. unfortunately for our parents, we are both much too gay for that.’

francesco hums softly, like he’s processing this information. ‘i wish i could be as open as you,’ he admits finally. ‘that i could just say that i like men just as much as women and be confident in it. but my uncle- i mean, he would never allow it-‘

he seems agitated, upset even, and lorenzo immediately feels his stomach flip with sympathy. he had warred with himself like this once too. 

‘hey,’ he says in his most calming voice. ‘hey, it’s alright. it took me a very long time to be as okay with myself as i am. but… i’m here for you, okay? always.’

lorenzo covers one of francesco’s hands with his own, and the touch seems to ground him. it’s odd, to be holding his hand and having a serious conversation, but lorenzo likes it. 

‘thank you,’ francesco says sincerely, and lorenzo can only smile over at him because he doesn’t trust his mouth to say something coherent. 

the moment is broken by giuliano, who comes over to the bar, claps the two men on their shoulders and all but shouts, ‘if you can have a conversation right now, you’re not drunk enough! drink!’ before literally passing out at their feet. 

‘i’m sorry,’ lorenzo winces. ‘he loses all semblance of volume control when he’s drunk. give him ten minutes; someone will call shots and he’ll be back up like nothing happened.’

francesco says nothing, but nudges giuliano lightly with the toe of his boot until the younger man turns to lie on his side. it’s a small gesture, and lorenzo wonders if he’d even thought before doing it, but something about francesco making sure his drunk brother can’t choke on his own vomit makes lorenzo’s heart soar. he watches as francesco pauses to make sure that giuliano won’t roll back over before throwing back the last of his vodka cran. something about the smooth milky line of his neck captivates lorenzo; he can’t tear his eyes away from the bob of francesco’s adam’s apple as he swallows or the way his tongue flicks out over his lips to lick the taste of cranberry away. when francesco gazes back over through his eyelashes, lorenzo feels his stomach do about fifty turns though he’s not entirely sure why.

‘what?’ francesco asks, sounding just the slightest bit self conscious. 

lorenzo shakes his head. this throat is very dry all of a sudden. ‘nothing. want to do tequila shots?’

the other man regards him so intently that lorenzo struggles to hold eye contact. ‘we shouldn’t,’ he finally says. but even as he says it, francesco’s lithe fingers are reaching for the bottle across the bar. 

lorenzo turns his head so that he is no longer close enough to smell the cologne wafting off the pazzi’s neck, then does so many shots that he gets sick and throws up in his mother’s priceless venetian antique vase. 

————————

sometime around one or two, clarice has the soundness of mind to take everyone’s keys and hide them away. it’s a testament to how wasted the group is that no one complains; not even francesco, who drops his on the ground twice before making it into the bowl where they clatter with everyone else’s. 

seeing the pile of keychains- plus a lemon and a few metro cards, how did those get in there?- saps lorenzo’s energy and he is left feeling very drunk and very tired. francesco has gotten quiet as well, and when lorenzo turns to look at him, his eyes are drooping. 

‘c’mon,’ he whispers. ‘let’s go.’

‘where are we going?’ francesco asks a little petulantly, but he takes lorenzo’s outstretched hand and allows himself to be pulled to his feet. you would hardly know he was totally hammered if you saw him on the street, but lorenzo can hear the slight slurring of his voice and see the unsteadiness in his gait. 

‘well, i’m sure you don’t want to sleep on the barstool,’ lorenzo explains as they stumble their way away from the party and out into the hallway. ‘and you don’t want to share with giuliano- he snores.’

francesco scrunches his nose at that. ‘you do too,’ he points out, and lorenzo has never been so offended by anything in his _life_. 

‘i do _not_!’ he says, sounding affronted. ‘i do not snore! this- this is slander, messer pazzi, lies!’

his friend is not so easily swayed by his theatrics. ‘you absolutely do. i remember when we were kids and i’d sleep over, if i didn’t fall asleep before you then i’d have to sleep with a pillow over my head to drown you out.’

lorenzo stares at him for a full minute, eyes wide. ‘i really do snore?’ he finally asks. 

‘like a freight train,’ francesco confirms. 

they stand silently in the hallway, just watching each other, until finally lorenzo breaks down into a fit of laughter and francesco joins him. they stagger through the door of lorenzo’s room and fall in a tangled heap onto the bed, breathless and smiling. 

‘oh my god,’ lorenzo breathes out once they have finally calmed. ‘i don’t think i’ve ever been so drunk in my life.’

‘me either. is your ceiling spinning or am i?’ francesco asks, and it makes them start laughing all over again. 

they catch their breath for a second before lorenzo heaves himself up to rummage through his dresser until he finds sweatpants long enough to fit francesco’s weirdly long legs. ‘here, try these on,’ he says as he tosses the sweats and a hoodie towards the bed; snorting when francesco sputters- he’d missed when he grabbed for them and the clothes smack him straight in the face. lorenzo doesn’t turn when he hears francesco pad into the bathroom and instead busies himself with his own clothes; something about the idea of francesco shirtless in his vicinity makes lorenzo blush horribly. 

the soft fabric of his most favorite t-shirt brings lorenzo down from his second wave of energy and it takes all he has to clamber back onto the bed. he waits quietly for francesco to come back, and is knocked quite speechless when the bathroom door opens. 

francesco- typically all sharp angles and severe lines- looks sleepy and warm in lorenzo’s clothes. the smallest sliver of his stomach peeks out from above the waistband of his pants when he stretches, and lorenzo has to make the conscious decision to _not_ stare at it. the hoodie, lorenzo notes faintly, is from his high school rugby days and is much too large on him. he’s always been the stockier of the two; lorenzo’s grandmother contessina used to call francesco- affectionately- a beanpole. 

the shock of francesco in his clothes finally wears off, and lorenzo can see that he’s debating whether to go back to the bed and share or just say he’ll take the floor- which is absolutely not happening. lorenzo holds out his hand but is still surprised when francesco takes it and climbs under the comforter. he watches the other man’s hands intently as they divest themselves of their rings and appreciates how they twist to unclasp francesco’s chain from around his neck. lorenzo wonders if sandro has ever drawn his hands; if he’s snuck glances exactly like lorenzo is now. he is so enamored by the pretty movements of francesco’s fingers that he hardly notices how close their faces are until he has to tilt his head back to meet the other man’s eyes. 

lorenzo is spellbound- the last time he had been so close to francesco was fully a decade earlier- and to be so close that he can see the green speckles in francesco’s eyes takes his breath away. he could never forget a single thing about his face, lorenzo realizes, as he instinctively spots the small scar above his eyebrow and the light dusting of freckles over his nose. he wonders if francesco is gazing at his face in the same way, if he’s looking at lorenzo and wondering how years later he still looks like the same boy he’d left crying in the courtyard after jacopo had spat that they would never be friends. 

‘do you remember,’ lorenzo asks suddenly, ‘the day that your uncle came to take you away?’

there is an instant far away look in francesco’s eyes, like he’s seeing through time back to that day, and lorenzo feels bad for asking. he remembers the day that he’d learned that his parents were both dead- _took her own life_ , he’d heard the maid whispering, _how horrible!_ \- and how he’d run to the pazzi’s palazzo to find a broken francesco. jacopo coming to take guglielmo and him away was the poison cherry on top of an already terrible cake. 

‘i do.’ francesco’s voice is thick. ‘it felt as though the sun would never shine again.’

‘but it has,’ lorenzo says insistently. he brushes a curl away from francesco’s eyes and puts a hand on the side of his face. ‘it _is_.’

it’s here, staring into francesco’s eyes, that lorenzo realizes two things in very quick succession. the first drops his heart to his toes and shakes him to his very core. it turns his whole world upside down- or maybe right side up. right here, right now, lorenzo de’ medici realizes one very fundamental fact about himself: he is madly, hopelessly in love with francesco pazzi. 

the second is that he can never know. 

he cannot find out, ever, because lorenzo will not threaten this tentative friendship they have. they’ve come so far and this will not be the reason they fall out again. lorenzo thinks back to earlier in the night when francesco had almost had a panic attack at the thought of even admitting his attraction to men, he could never put this on him knowing the hurt and confusion it would cause him. better to have francesco in his life as nothing more than a friend, just out of reach, than not at all. 

but lorenzo is nothing if not a hopeful, optimistic dreamer and, apparently, a masochist. 

‘did you think of me?’ he chokes out. it feels as though a rope is tightening around his chest and leaving him unable to speak. ‘when you were gone did you think of me? i thought of you often.’

if francesco is surprised by the change in topic, he doesn’t show it. his eyes look almost wild. ‘yes,’ he answers, quietly, reverently, as if the confession is dangerous. ‘all of the time. every day.’

lorenzo feels frantic, like the caged tiger he once saw in the zoo. ‘you’ve hated me. i’m sorry for all i’ve done to make you hate me-‘

‘enzo,’ francesco interrupts calmly, like the use of his nickname doesn’t drive lorenzo even more crazy. ‘i have hated you. but even when i hated you, i loved you. even then i knew that you would always be my friend.’

this is exactly what lorenzo needs to hear and francesco must know it, because he grabs onto lorenzo and pulls him in for a tight hug. pressed firmly into his chest and senses filled with the sharp spiciness of his cologne, lorenzo falls into a deep sleep, determined to force away any dreams involving romance of any kind. 

———————

it doesn’t work.

———————

lorenzo spends the next few weeks in nothing less than a complete haze. no one comments on it outright, but he sees the concerned looks from his mother and hears the confused whispers amongst his friends. the only one who doesn’t seem to notice, really, is francesco. 

he hadn’t been there when lorenzo had woken up the night after the party. he hadn’t really expected him to, but lorenzo’s heart still ached. it had been lessened, at least a little, by the water and tylenol on his bedside table and the little note that accompanied them. _take me!_ it said, in the messy scrawl lorenzo immediately knew to be francesco’s. _ps: you didn’t snore ;)_ it made lorenzo smile sadly, knowing that the gesture hadn’t meant half as much to his friend as it had to him. but he accepted it anyways, knowing that he needed to take what he could get. 

lying there on his bed, while coming to terms with the fact that he is in love with _francesco fucking pazzi_ , lorenzo held onto two things. 

  * this changes nothing about his life. not even in a sense of denial. he’s been in love with francesco for years, he thinks, and he’s lived with it all this time. so, nothing changes.
  

  * being in love with francesco is not the end of the world. nevermind that he is a pazzi; bianca is dating a pazzi and is very happy about it. there are certainly worse people he could be in love with, and besides. giuliano always is saying that a little unrequited love is good for you. 



lorenzo still isn’t sure if his brother was correct on the last bit. 

later that day, he realized that francesco had left the borrowed sweatpants but took the hoodie with him. it was then that he noticed the glint of silver from his bedside table- francesco’s chain. had he taken the hoodie and left the chain as a sort of swap? or had it just been francesco, hungover and tired, not realizing what was his and what was lorenzo’s? it hadn’t mattered, not when he stepped in front of the mirror and slowly, deliberately, clasped the chain. the cool metal looked foreign and completely unlike his style at first, but lorenzo had gotten used to seeing it around his neck. 

the first time lorenzo saw francesco wearing his hoodie out and about florence, it had sucked all of the air from his lungs and made his hands shake with adrenaline. it had almost been as if everyone in the market had frozen and it was just them, staring across the rows of produce as they took each other in. and then francesco had smiled and waved and everything came back into focus and lorenzo forced himself to act like a normal person. 

it’s gotten easier since then. lorenzo almost can’t imagine seeing francesco and him not having MEDICI stamped across his shoulders in a bold red whenever they hang out. clarice looks at him like she knows everything he’s hiding, but she never presses and for that lorenzo is thankful. sometimes, they come close to talking about the whole situation, but he’s always able to distract her by asking after lucrezia, which makes her blush and smile and change the subject. 

but lorenzo is teetering over a precipice, and the delicately built peace could never last with him being so unstable. 

really, the whole argument is caused by lorenzo himself, and over something so insignificant as novella foscari. 

in all, she is only in the city for three weeks while her father is conducting business. she’s from venice, and therefore something exotic to the bored twenty-somethings of florentine society who have nothing better to do all summer except gossip and create drama. bianca thinks she’s darling and clarice likes talking venetian politics, so they invite her to most of the little get togethers that are hastily thrown together whenever the friend group is itching for something to do (read: all of the time).

lorenzo’s problems with novella start and end with the fact that francesco seems to really, _really_ like her. 

he is immediately more open with her, more trusting, then he is with even lorenzo. he walks her home after parties, talks for ages with her in the city square, and runs to catch up to her after mass. francesco smiles more when he’s around novella. he seems more alive when he’s around novella. 

lorenzo doesn’t see how francesco could trust this newcomer over him, someone who he’s known his entire life. he doesn’t know why he doesn’t just open his eyes and see what he has right in front of himself in lorenzo. they could be wonderful together, they could build the biggest banking empire in the world together, they could be _happy_ together. 

but it’s not lorenzo who francesco looks at like they’ve hung the stars. and novella seems totally oblivious to this, so lorenzo knows what he has to do. 

in the end, it’s very simple to do. a dropped comment here, an astute observation there, and novella quickly grasps that she’s extremely important to francesco. it hurts but lorenzo is aware that it’s for the best; he never had a chance with francesco anyways. 

yeah. so maybe he didn’t think that through all the way. 

it becomes evident that lorenzo has completely misjudged francesco’s interest in novella one afternoon when he is cornered in the alleyway off of the palazzo vecchio by one very angry pazzi. 

‘did you tell novella that i’m into her?’ francesco asks lowly, and lorenzo apparently has horrible survival instincts because he doesn’t see how massively he has fucked up yet. 

‘yes, why?’

‘why in the world would you do that, lorenzo?’ he’s shouting now, and attracting attention from the main street, so lorenzo pulls him farther into the alley. 

‘well you do, don’t you? i see the way you look at her, but she was completely oblivious. i was just trying to help.’ lorenzo thinks that francesco is overreacting a bit, but knows it’s best to let his irritation run its course.

it becomes clear that this is about more than just novella foscari when francesco laughs humorlessly and paces aimlessly for a few beats, like he’s trying to get himself under control. 

‘that’s your problem, lorenzo. you’re always trying to help but you just end up causing more damage and you’re the only person who gets to walk away unharmed,’ he finally spits out, like the words burn him. the ferocity of his anger shocks and stings lorenzo like a slap in the face. ‘didn’t you think to ask what i wanted? didn’t you stop and think to yourself, ‘gee, i wonder what francesco would say about this?’ because guess what, you’re wrong once again: i couldn’t care less about her!’

‘well, how was i supposed to know?’ lorenzo asks, suddenly mad. ‘you never talk to me, and you’ve been so consumed by _her_ for the past few weeks that i could hardly get a second of your time anyways!’

francesco tears a hand through his hair. ‘you must be stupid, lorenzo de medici, or blind,’ he snarls. ‘are you kidding me? is it willful, this kind of denial? you claim to be the smartest person in any room, but you really couldn’t see through all of that for what it really was- a ploy to make you jealous.’

lorenzo freezes. all of his anger is gone. _a ploy to make you jealous_ , his brain whispers, unable to stop repeating itself. his body aches with needing to know why, why in the world francesco would want him to be jealous, but his mind is too afraid to let him ask. 

‘why,’ he finally hears himself say weakly, but it sounds like more of a statement than a question. he wills his voice to be strong. ‘why would you want me to be jealous?’

francesco scoffs, and shakes his head. lorenzo bites down so hard on the inside of his cheek that he tastes blood.

‘you figure it out,’ francesco finally says almost robotically. ‘i’m tired of waiting around for you.’

and then he is gone, leaving lorenzo in the cramped alley feeling empty and very, very alone. 

——————

lorenzo walks aimlessly through florence, until by some miracle he arrives back at the house. it’s not even dark out yet and probably hasn’t been that long since francesco left him confused and shattered, but it feels like it’s been hours. he shuffles through the courtyard, fully intending to go and listen to sad music in his room while trying to think about anything except a certain someone, until he is stopped dead in his tracks by his mother. 

‘oh good, you’re here. where have you been?’ lucrezia asks him briskly. 

lorenzo pales at her urgent tone. ‘mother? what’s happened?’

she only gets out the words ‘it’s clarice’ before lorenzo is all but sprinting up the stairs and into the living room. 

sure enough, sobbing on the couch is clarice. she’s being comforted by bianca and simonetta- now a permanent fixture in the friend group- and giuliano is very passionately ranting about how he’s going to destroy someone’s life. sandro also looks positively murderous, but he says something about how nano can’t _hit_ a girl, it’s not right, which makes no sense to lorenzo but isn’t his first concern. 

‘what’s the matter?’ lorenzo asks as soothingly as he can as he crouches in front of clarice. she tries to say something but is crying too hard to form any sort of coherent sentence. 

‘lucrezia broke up with her,’ bianca supplies quietly. ‘through a text.’

and finally, lorenzo understands why everyone is so angry. clarice, though not the youngest of them all, was certainly the one everyone felt most protective of. she’d come to florence from rome without knowing a single person and had spent a few very solitary months trying to learn all of the conventions of a proud society. but he also knows that the anger in the room is only making clarice more upset, and also that they probably don’t have the whole story. 

‘okay, everyone out,’ he says, shooing everyone from the room. ‘c’mon, i want to talk to clarice alone.’

sure enough, as everyone starts to leave, her sobs subside little by little until she’s only sniffling. lorenzo sits next to her and lets her cry into his shoulders until she’s calmed down enough to talk. 

‘alright,’ he says, putting an arm around her shoulders, ‘tell me everything from the beginning.’

‘lucrezia is going to istanbul for three months,’ clarice explains miserably. ‘we got into this argument about how i’m not great at showing my emotions and how i feel like she doesn’t trust me fully. and she said… well she asked how we’re supposed to do long distance if i can’t even tell her i love her while she’s here in front of me. i told her i love her and she said that the only reason i was saying it was to win an argument, which doesn’t count. and then she left, and a few minutes later i got a text that said she didn’t think we should see each other when she got back from istanbul.’ 

lorenzo thinks for a moment. clarice is probably his closest friend, but before he had clarice, he had lucrezia. he thinks he may know her better than anyone else. 

‘do you really love her?’ he asks. he knows the answer, but wants clarice to say it anyways. 

‘so much,’ clarice says, eyes wide. ‘i love her so much. i feel bolder when i’m with her, like i can do anything. i couldn’t imagine living without her and now she’s _gone_.’

‘then you have to tell her!’ lorenzo exclaims, pulling her to her feet. ‘go, you have to tell her now, before she leaves!’

‘no, i can’t! what if she thinks i’m just saying it again?’

‘clarice,’ he says seriously, a little stern. ‘i know lucrezia like the back of my hand. the one thing she’s scared of more than anything is getting hurt by the people she loves. she’s just as terrified of losing you as you are of losing her. so you _have_ to tell her, before it’s too late.’

lorenzo only realizes he’s projecting a little after the words leave his lips. he sees clarice’s eyes widen incrementally and internally face palms. 

‘lorenzo,’ she asks slowly, ‘what happened with francesco?’

‘nothing happened with francesco,’ he replies much too quickly. ‘what makes you think something happened with francesco?’

when clarice sits back down on the couch and pats the spot next to her, he knows he’s cornered. out the window goes lorenzo’s plan to act like nothing has changed and for a moment he is so, so glad that he’s finally been caught; it’s almost as though a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. 

‘i’ve seen you with him,’ clarice confesses. ‘these past few weeks i’ve watched you watch him and wondered if you were ever gonna make a move. did you?’

the deep hole in lorenzo’s chest that he has been studiously ignoring flares in pain for a moment. the words _i’m tired of waiting around for you_ bounce around in his head like some sorry computer screensaver. all he wants to do is curl up into a very small ball and phase out of existence and end up in some dimension where he always knows what to say and how to win francesco back. dramatic, he chides himself, stupid, selfish.

‘no,’ he finally says bitterly. ‘no i did not.’

and then he tells her everything. it spills out of him like a fountain and he is unable to stop, absolutely incapable of shutting up after months of holding it in and telling nobody. lorenzo tells clarice of the night of the party and every interaction since; how they’d stared into each other’s eyes and how he’d realized oh god i _love_ him and how he’d felt so hopeless when he watched francesco and novella. he nearly cries as he remembers their fight and thinks i’ve lost him i've lost him i’ve lost him until clarice grabs his hand to ground him.

‘let me get this straight,’ clarice says slowly, and lorenzo almost wants to make a weak joke about how absolutely none of this is straight, ‘you realized you’ve been in love with francesco for years, had a very big gay freak out, and tried to set him up with novella foscari.’

lorenzo gives her what he hopes is his best ‘please don’t make fun of me just help me fix this mess i don’t know how to live without him’ look. clarice chokes out a sound and then he realizes she is _laughing_ at him, which is absolutely not what he expected.

‘what?’ he asks, indignant and a little worried, because best case scenario clarice is laughing because she’s about to literally upend his life.

and isn’t lorenzo lucky? best case scenario indeed.

‘lorenzo, you are literally the dumbest man to ever walk the earth,’ she says through giggles, and waves away his sound of protest. ‘no, you are! seriously, how can you not see that francesco is head over heels in love with you?’

what what what what what what what _what_?

lorenzo is suddenly unable to breathe, think, or move. he thinks that maybe he’s dying. his brain short circuits at this new information, completely at a loss with regards to how to process absolutely anything clarice has just said. francesco, in love with _him_? all this time, he’d been so worried about everything except this possibility. he planned for everything else- francesco finding out and shunning him, francesco finding out and being horribly pitying, francesco never finding out and lorenzo simply yearning from a distance- so much so that he’d never even considered the possibility that francesco could ever love him back. 

and then he thinks back to francesco lying in his bed, their breaths mingling as he said he’d never stopped thinking about lorenzo, the way his eyes had shone as he whispered that even when he’d hated him, he’d loved him. 

lorenzo- optimist, dreamer, masochist- needs to add one more adjective to his description of himself: absolute fucking _idiot_.

‘oh my god,’ he says weakly. he’s vaguely aware of the amused expression clarice wears. and then one more time, stronger: ‘oh my god. he _loves_ me? oh my god, oh no, i’m so stupid what if he thinks i don’t love him back?’

‘then tell him!’ clarice pulls herself off of the couch and leads him out of the living room and out onto the landing of the stairs, where their friends are sitting and _definitely_ not eavesdropping. ‘c’mon, i’ll go with you.’ 

‘and then we’ll go see lucrezia,’ lorenzo adds pointedly, pleased when clarice beams at him. 

their very touching moment is ruined by guglielmo shooting to his feet, yanking bianca up with him. ‘uh, no time lorenzo!’ he says a little frantically, staring at his phone. ‘francesco, he’s- god, why does he type so badly i can’t read this at all-’

‘he’s going to rome,’ bianca finishes, grabbing her boyfriend’s phone. ‘he’s leaving, you’ve got to run! his train leaves in thirty minutes!’ 

that’s all lorenzo needs to hear. he is suddenly graced with the very terrifying realization that if he doesn’t catch francesco, doesn’t tell him how he feels in the next thirty minutes, he will never have the chance to again. there’s a cold sense of dread in the pit of his stomach, but instead of freezing, he launches himself down the stairs and out into the courtyard. giuliano is yelling at him to take the car, saying he’ll drive, but there’s no _time_ , no time to battle florentine traffic. he blows past his mother, who yells at him to _slow down, jesus lorenzo, why are you running inside?_ but he hardly hears her, she is drowned out by the pounding of his heart and clarice at his side telling him to run, that she’s right behind him. 

feet pounding the cobblestones underneath him, lorenzo sprints as fast as he can while dodging tourists and unaware businessmen. where would the best place to intercept francesco be? the route from the palazzo pazzi to the train station is hardly a straight line, and if he picked the wrong path, francesco could be on the train and gone before lorenzo had a chance to retrace his steps. 

thankfully for lorenzo, he has the best friends in the world. in the whole universe, possibly.

‘lorenzo!’ clarice calls out behind him, and for a second lorenzo feels bad for nearly leaving her in his dust but she seems fine, hardly winded. ‘sandro’s just seen him. near the duomo!’

lorenzo makes the mental note to buy sandro the best new art supplies he can find. maybe those fancy, imported parisian pigments he loves. he turns to sprint up the via del proconsolo when he notices clarice hesitating- of course, she has to go see lucrezia.

‘go,’ he tells her, breathless and giddy. ‘tell her exactly how you feel, leave nothing out.’

clarice, always selfless, always putting others first, still looks conflicted. lorenzo pulls her into a tight hug and gives her a kiss on the forehead.

‘go!’ he says again. ‘i’ll be fine. trust me, i’m not gonna mess this up. i love you, now go get your girl!’

that spurs his friend into action. she gives lorenzo one last smile, one last whispered word of encouragement, and then they are both sprinting again, this time in opposite directions. lorenzo sends up a prayer to whoever may be listening that they both get through this unscathed. he can see the towering duomo, hears the bells signaling the end of daily mass, pushes himself to run faster, and then he breaks through the crowd of people to skid to a stop in the middle of the piazza.

lorenzo gasps for air, trying to spot messy curls in the pushing throng of people leaving the duomo. he searches for anything, anyone resembling the man he so desperately needs to talk to. his heart is beginning to sink and his chest ache when he spots red and white and a single name emblazoned across a pair of impossibly narrow shoulders.

it’s francesco, still in lorenzo’s rugby sweatshirt, tugging his bag behind him and parting the crowd with his glare.

there is a second where lorenzo’s heart clenches while watching francesco walk away. he feels lost, like he can never get him back and he’s doomed to be in the worst kind of unrequited love affair with francesco forever.

and then, by the grace of god, some rational part of lorenzo’s brain asks why, if francesco now hates him again, he is still wearing lorenzo’s too big sweatshirt.

_even when i hated you, i loved you._

this small bit of hope spurs him into action, tripping over his feet and shouldering people out of the way as he shouts francesco’s name. 

‘francesco!’ he calls. ‘francesco, wait!’ 

francesco freezes and then turns slowly, as if he hadn't expected to hear or see lorenzo ever again. there’s a quick flash of something across his face before his features settle into the most neutral look lorenzo has ever been fixed with. 

‘what is it?’ francesco asks, and his voice is so steady that lorenzo almost believes that he no longer cares. ‘i’ve got to go, i’m going to miss my train.’

it’s at this moment that lorenzo realizes he has no idea what to say. he doesn’t know how to tell francesco that he loves him. so he says the first thing that comes to mind. ‘you’re still wearing my sweatshirt.’

somewhere, without knowing exactly why, bianca de medici and clarice orsini face palm in unison.

francesco’s eyes grow impossibly even more stormy. ‘what, do you want it back?’ he spits. ‘can’t bear the thought of parting with it for a pazzi? i should have known-’

‘no!’ lorenzo cries out, throwing his arms out to stop francesco from stepping around him. ‘no, would you just- please, just let me explain- fuck, i don’t know how to do this, francesco!’ 

the desperation in his voice must catch francesco off guard, because he freezes and looks shocked for the shortest of seconds before schooling his expression back into his carefully bored look.

‘you were right,’ lorenzo admits. ‘you were so right, i’ve been blind, and stupid, and i don’t know how you could ever excuse that. i shouldn’t have told novella you were interested in her.’

francesco raises one, very unimpressed eyebrow. ‘whatever, lorenzo. you’re forgiven.’

he moves to step around lorenzo, but he doesn’t get the chance because lorenzo grabs his hand. lorenzo remembers that bank party where he’d done the exact same thing and said he’d never wanted anything more than to be francesco’s friend, back when he’d been so blissfully unaware of the knife he’d been twisting into both of their hearts. 

‘would you please listen to me!’ lorenzo all but shouts, drawing some inquisitive glances from the people around them. it makes francesco freeze completely, and he takes advantage of that to totally word vomit. ‘i shouldn’t have sent novella after you. i was being selfish- i just wanted to see you happy so that i could pretend it was _me_ making you laugh like that, that _i_ was the one who got to sit there and be called yours. god forgive me, but i won’t apologize for loving you and wanting to keep you close. i can’t, not when all i’ve wanted since i was twelve was for you to love me back. but i am sorry for all the times i’ve hurt you and i’m sorry for not realizing sooner. please don’t go, francesco, _please_. i want you to stay.’

francesco is still frozen, but now his eyes are wide and his cheeks dusted with just the lightest blush. he says nothing, and lorenzo is worried he’s fucked it up all over again. he’s just about to give up, to step out of francesco’s way and let him board the train to rome never to return to florence, when francesco says something completely nonsensical to lorenzo’s ears.

‘i’ve got you beat,’ is all he says. 

‘ummm,’ lorenzo says quite eloquently. ‘what?’

‘remember that time we got in trouble for jumping into the fountain in the gardens- what were we, eight? and you covered for me, saying you’d fallen in and i had jumped in after you?’ francesco asks, voice wavering and betraying how emotional he actually feels. lorenzo only nods, too worried to say anything. ‘ _that’s_ how long i’ve loved you. i’ve got you beat.’

all of the blood in lorenzo’s body rushes to his brain, making him feel a little dizzy. he can hardly think of anything except francesco, solid and steady, standing here saying he loves him like it’s the easiest thing in the world- and you know what, maybe it is. with francesco standing here, smiling at him shyly, lorenzo feels the most at peace he’d ever felt in his life. 

‘you’re so dumb,’ lorenzo laughs affectionately, hands unconsciously coming up to brush the hair out of francesco’s eyes and resting on either side of his face.

francesco is looking at lorenzo in a way that makes him weak in the knees. it’s the same way he’d looked at him that night in lorenzo’s room, he realizes.

‘you love me,’ francesco says smuggly, but the phrase still seems to knock the air out of his lungs.

‘yeah,’ lorenzo agrees, smiling uncontrollably. ‘i really do.’

and then, just like that, francesco is kissing him. their lips slot perfectly together and lorenzo thinks he might be crying a little but it doesn’t matter because francesco is _kissing_ him, kissing him like it’s all he’s ever wanted to do. which is probably true, if he feels anything like lorenzo does. somewhere off to his right, someone who sounds suspiciously like giuliano wolf whistles loudly, and lorenzo and francesco break apart breathlessly, unable to keep from laughing.

‘excuse me for a moment,’ lorenzo whispers, eyes closed and resting his forehead on francesco’s. ‘i’ve got to go kill my brother.’

‘i’ll help,’ francesco says helpfully. ‘they’ll never find the body between the two of us.’

lorenzo laughs again as his heart swells. _he loves you! he loves you! he loves you!_ it sings, and lorenzo is so happy that he can’t help but pull francesco down into another, even more passionate kiss. this time, francesco chases his lips when he pulls away and the dazed expression on his face makes lorenzo feel happy and fuzzy and suddenly very, very warm.

‘will you stay?’ he asks hopefully.

‘always,’ francesco answers without hesitating. ‘forever, lorenzo.’

lorenzo de medici- optimist, dreamer, masochist, idiot, _lover_ \- looks up at him and knows it’s true. he’ll never have to worry about losing francesco again. something seems to magically slip into place; he can see his whole life laid out in front of him, and everywhere he looks is francesco.

‘forever,’ he repeats, beaming, and decides he very much likes the sound of that. 

the idea of forever with francesco makes lorenzo so impossibly happy that he ignores the whistles and cheering of his friends to kiss francesco again.

**Author's Note:**

> please please please leave kudos and drop a comment! if you want to yell with me about these dorks (please do) i'm on tumblr as doctor-sharpe and twitter as @heiensharpe.
> 
> one last disclaimer, for my sanity: please drink responsibly! sandro may be able to avoid alcohol poisoning however he is a fictional person here and you are not.


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